My Life So Far

On the Road Again, I Hope

Are we there yet?

There's a little sign on the dashboard of my 1975 Chevy van that says, "Are we there yet?"
It started off as a joke, a question I would ask myself, not to determine if I was closing in on the next city, the next campground, the next rest stop or the next job. I wanted to know if I was happy yet.

Maybe deep down inside that's what we're all asking, "Am I there yet?"
"Am I happy? Am I successful? Am I loveable? Am I brilliant? Am I good enough? Am I smart enough? Am I competent?"

"Do I move back in the van, keep the apartment, give up the apartment? Am I happy? Am I there yet?"

After almost 18 months of homelessness - which included a stint couch-surfing at a friend's house and commuting to the Wal-Mart parking lot where I left my van during the day and drove my Toyota to work, I moved back into an apartment. I've been here two years and it's just not the fun I thought it would be. Sure, it's nice to have my own shower and toilet and a washer/dryer in the kitchen. It's not nice coming up with $600 a month to fund it all. Some months are easier than others, but with the economy - it's gotten harder.

The siren song of the van beckons. I have no problem moving back and taking off for the summer, but do I really want to give up the apartment. So I sit. And ponder. "Am I there yet?"